Open Arms
by G.A. AnimeFan4
Summary: [AnxietyShipping request.] Boy's shirts, nightmares, temple kisses, and coffee in the morning.


_A/N: This one-shot was requested, or suggested and asked for, by _K.I.T.T. RIDER. _I hope it's alright, I'm so bad at awkward fluff and topics like these - even though this is kinda angsty? I dunno, but anyway, enjoy some AnxietyShipping.__  
_

_Takes place roughly after _Pushover_ with absolutely zero reference to it so don't worry if you haven't read that._

_Sorry for grammar mistakes._

* * *

**Open Arms**

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.

.

As soon as the first clap of thunder vibrates through the building, she knows she's screwed.

"Well," Droite mumbles flatly. "Shit."

She hears a sort of cough that might be a stifled chuckle. Standing quickly, Droite sets her mug down on the table and moves to grab her shoes by the doorway.

"I'll have to beat the storm."

She is only just bending over to reach for one heel when a hand touches her arm. She blinks up at Kaito, silently asking what he wants. He rolls his eyes and lets her go, playing with one of his long, white sleeves, saying disinterestedly, "It's already pouring."

Droite opens her mouth to argue when a flash of jagged lighting over the city skyline illuminates the glass windows and a loud rumbling reiterates itself forcefully - and she reluctantly straightens and purses her lips irritably. This seems to amuse Kaito somewhat, but he remains serious when he continues. "You'll die if you go out there now. If you like, you can stay here until tomorrow. . ."

Droite glances at the heavy raindrops splattering against the panes and frowns deeper, nodding once. "If that's alright." Then she immediately adds, "Thank you."

And an hour later, Droite finds herself in the extra bedroom - which is awkward, because in reality, it's _Kaito's_ room. He moved out temporarily into Haruto's across the hall, who's spending the night at a friend's house. Dr. Faker had gone, too.

Inhaling rather noisily, Droite closes her eyes a second to compose herself, then shoulders off her light jacket and removes any accessories to make her current attire more comfortable to sleep in. After which she sits on the edge of the mattress, unsure of what exactly to do.

Someone - never mind, _Kaito_ - knocks on her - _his_ - door, and she tells him that it's fine to come in. He does, casually stepping inside and pausing, searching for the right words. Finally, Kaito gets his bearings apparently and motions to his closet. "I don't really have a lot, but. . .you know, if you want something a little more comfortable. . ." He clears his throat. "Help yourself, I guess. . ."

Droite thanks him again, a bit embarrassed. He murmurs a goodnight and backs out, shutting the door softly. She listens as his footsteps sound just meters away and disappear behind the sound of another closing entrance nearby. She grunts and scolds herself for acting so stupidly and debates mentally for a while. Coming to a conclusion, Droite goes to Kaito's closet and chooses a large t-shirt, removing her own top layers and pulling the red cloth over her head. Deciding it best to keep the leggings she's had on all day, she huffs in satisfaction, and flicks the light-switch off (once she locates it).

Crawling into Kaito's bed and pulling the blankets up to her neck, Droite feels an evident warmth rise to her cheeks when she breathes in his smell, and it takes a good amount longer for her to fall asleep than usual.

.

.

It really doesn't last long, though, because her entire body convulses with a painful jolt, awaken by a deafening roar of thunder.

She was lucky, however, that nature decided to snap her into consciousness.

Droite bunches up the comforter in her arms, pressing her shivering form into the corner that the bed is placed in, shoulders squeezed between two cold walls. Her knees come up to her chest and she buries her chin in them, struggling to control her ragged gasps for air, fighting to distinguish reality from the nightmare.

She has to suppress an anguished sob when the image of hollow grey eyes fuzzily materializes back in her mind, and shakes harder when she hears herself screaming his name in her sleep. She locks her jaw shut to restrain any sound and forces herself to calm down.

It's a battle, but eventually her lungs heave less strenuously and she can see properly - it's not all obscured and her skin isn't hot and tight anymore.

And it's right as Droite has regained her senses when she is alarmed all over again because suddenly her door is slamming open and someone stumbles inside. Leaning on the handle and rubbing tired lids, a dark silhouette questions, "Droite. . . ? Did something happen?"

She is about to ask why Kaito is so freaked out when she realizes that she must have _actually _shouted his name.

Recoiling in horror at the idea, Droite pushes herself into the corner further, trying to disappear within her own skin, feeling something awfully like hot grief rising into her throat. She's never dreamed of _Kaito dying_ before and she isn't quite sure how to be handling this. It had been so vivid, so _real_, and she feels so _detached_.

She tells Kaito to go back to sleep and that she is fine - her voice cracks and she hates herself for it.

Out of the corner of her vision, she notices his shoulders drop, muscles slackened. His figure is dimly lit and she can't see his face, which she is grateful for. She must look pitiful. Like a child.

Droite closes her eyes and covers her face with clammy, quivering hands.

A muffled groan tells her that Kaito has taken a seat on the bed. She doesn't move until her entire frame twitches as a cool arm wraps around her from behind, pulling her into his awkward embrace. Tensely, she attempts to pull away, attempts to insist that she is okay, but her voice betrays her and only a soft whimper is heard. Angrily, Droite chews on her tongue.

Kaito holds her close, rubbing small circles below her shoulder blades and staying very quiet. Finally, he murmurs gruffly, "I'm terrible at this sort of thing."

It's enough to make her almost laugh, the effects of the nightmare wearing off now. Sinking into the crook of his neck, she replies hoarsely, "Sorry."

"Don't be."

Neither of them move for a long time. Kaito keeps massaging her back, growing gradually more at ease with their current intimacy. At one point, he reaches down to pull the blanket up and over the both of them, indicating he won't be leaving her side anytime soon; it's almost like he _understands_ what occurred. Both rest against the same wall, supporting each other and calming down. Droite counts his breaths, each inhalation and exhalation, slipping into a light doze. Vaguely, she feels him crane his neck and kiss her temple.

Then she is asleep.

.

.

When she opens her eyes, Droite shakes her head and sighs, having predicted this.

Entangled in sheets and head against a pillow instead of a man's chest, she is alone. She snuggles into _his_ shirt, enjoying _his_ scent and willing herself to forget about last night.

Of course he wouldn't have stayed.

.

.

(But only a minute later, the door opens soundlessly and Kaito steps in, holding two cups of coffee and smiling slightly when he sees that she is awake, offering her one and sitting beside her again.)

.

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_~Finish~_


End file.
